I put myself out there. I told my sister about my addiction. I did NOT tell her about the associated activities. I can’t go there.
She was very understanding. She had the same upbringing as me. Just not the molested part. Her being a former therapist didn’t hurt either.
I remember back to when I first told her of my bipolar diagnosis. “I don’t see it. I’ve never thought that was possible” was her immediate response. Then she saw my melt down this past spring. Then she saw my explosion, toward her, this summer. “I never believed you were bipolar until you showed it to me.” She went on to say there are a lot of things that make sense now.
She’s a very good listener. We (I) talked over 4 hours. She would ask a question every now and then and it was off to the races for my talking.
I finally told her that I am unable to trust anyone. I told her that telling her (a lot of) my story was incredibly difficult. I had told her that I was using our conversation as a trust building exercise. She thought it was a great idea. “I’m giving you all of this information and I’m waiting on you to tell everyone so my fears are confirmed.” She said she had no Ill-will or malicious intent.
I understand she doesn’t have evil intent. It was the end of our conversation where I panicked. “Well, I’ll tell Husband about this. We had assumed molestation was involved.”
My fears were being realized. She was going to tell someone. I ran over to my wife, “I have to tell her not to tell her husband.” ‘Why? It’s her husband. I tell you stuff when my sisters not to tell anyone all the time. It’s part of the marital bond.’
I didn’t complain.
Home Time And An Urge
I drove us home. As normal, I watched my wife get out of the car. It was then I could tell her period was over. I had thought it earlier. Here’s why:
1. She has been very happy today.
2. I saw her thong.
I was instantly attracted to her delightful derrière. I enjoyed watching as it went swish, swish from side to side. Oh my goodness. My favorite thing to see. And then she put her hand on her rear and smoothed her pants. My mind saw her revving her ass seductively.
We take our places on the couch. I texted:
“You’re done with your period, aren’t you?”
Yes. How’d you know?
:::I gave her my reasons from above:::
“You know, I’ll be happy to re-start my 90 days.”
“Think of it as a, ‘see you in a few months’ experience.”
“I’m just saying it would be nice.”
I let 43 seconds pass.
“Is it red light because of pressure?
“I’m sorry. I just thought that when you said nothing negative, you were receptive.”
That’s the problem…I am receptive.
“Oh, how I wish you wouldn’t have said that.”
She has finished her period. Traditionally, this is her horniest week of the month. If I’m gonna score, it’s this week. She wants sex. But we agreed to go the 90 days. She will not agree to sex until 90 days have passed.
Here I sit, on my couch, as I enjoy my greatest temptation from her yet. She wants it, I want it. We ain’t doing it.
I’m on day 4 of 90 and, right now, I’m clearly going to die.
Have…never…gone without…when…her horny…
Ladies and gentlemen, any prayers you have would be REALLY nice today.